


A Storm Brewing

by GingerBreton



Series: Rebellion AU taster one shots [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Ferelden Civil War, One Shot, Pre-Relationship, Rebellion, The Blight (Dragon Age), Tumblr Prompt, rebellion AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 20:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17856245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerBreton/pseuds/GingerBreton
Summary: This one shot is based on the tumblr angst prompt "I found you angry at me, refusing to look me in the eye".  They asked for drama, so here is drama!  It is set in my rebellion au, a brief summary of which is in the beginning notes.Alistair and Ysabelle receive news from Rebellion spies which causes some serious friction.





	A Storm Brewing

**Author's Note:**

> Rebellion au whistlestop background: When the Orlesian Empire invaded Ferelden in the Blessed Age, they were on the brink of victory following King Brandel Theirin going to ground. Before they could assume control of the country, the Dryden family (who were in contention for the crown at the start of the Storm Age) led an uprising, successfully ousting the Orlesians. A Dryden queen was crowned, while Theirin, along with his family, vanished. They were not to be heard of again until Maric and his sons embarked upon a rebellion, rising in western Ferelden. 
> 
> 9:30 Dragon: In exchange for the Wardens taking a tainted Cailan, to attempt to perform the Joining, Ysabelle and Alistair agreed to mediate between the opposing sides of the civil war, to make them see the threat that the Blight posed. They travel together, Alistair ensuring Ysabelle’s safe return to Denerim unbeknownst to the rebellion, so that they can then fulfil the promise that may have saved his brother’s life.

_I am to understand your quarry evades you, my prince. Word has reached us from Denerim that a Royal wedding is to take place come Wintersend, a Cousland-Dryden union to cement alliances. If this is true, it is unfortunate indeed, for they are powerful adversaries. The Coastlands may no longer be safe for your journey. Travel carefully._

_If she has indeed reached Denerim, your father requests your immediate return. We are all eager to understand the events that took your brother away from us. I have it on good authority that you are expected to fulfill his role as heir._

_Maker keep you,_

_Anora_

The crumpled message had been tossed at her feet as she restrung her bow by the campfire. The words were barely legible, not just from the judicious folding that came with sending messages via raven, but from the number of times the note had evidently been read and re-read, crushed into a ball, flung aside, and then read again.

Ysabelle had scarcely had a chance to look to the item that had been discarded so abruptly at her feet, before Alistair turned on his heel and stalked back across the camp without a backward glance. Her brows knotted at what could have elicited such a response from her companion, that was until she delicately unfurled the water-damaged paper. She dug in her pack for the hastily scrawled cipher Alistair had written, should she ever need to understand rebel communications, an act that would surely constitute treason against his kin should they ever find out, and set about deciphering the neat text within.

Instantly any concern over his behaviour evaporated, the words of the letter burning into her, resurrecting arguments with her father she had thought were long dead and buried. She understood the political message being made, she’d been schooled in such matters before most children her age could read, and had known her role; despite being the heir to the throne, she was to marry to benefit the family and provide an heir. But to read what was always meant to be a distant plan for her future, saved for a world not at war, written in the hand of a stranger, left her shaking. Her personal life out there for all to see, like this were some kind of game. Like they were in _Orlais._

The final stab of indignity came from the name of the note’s author, bringing along with it the old ache in her thigh where the arrow had struck her all those months ago in the rebel encampment. She remembered those cool blue eyes staring down at her with disdain, a smirk on those pretty lips. The way she had nocked another arrow only once she discovered her identity, while all around her lowered their weapons. Anora Mac Tir was not to be underestimated, and it made her blood boil to think that the woman who would have ended her that day was privy to knowledge of a future which Ysabelle had no control over.

What to do now though. If Alistair was expected back in the Hinterlands then her journey to Denerim would be a hurried one. They were barely three days travel east of West Hill, still two weeks walk from the capital unless they could procure horses. Even that would only cut their journey by a week and potentially make them more conspicuous, allowing for less ease of hiding. 

How she longed for the comfort of the inn they had stayed at there, and the spirit of camaraderie which had flourished further within their small group. For those few days that they had hidden in West Hill while troops moved on the north road, she had revelled in the sense of anonymity, a glimpse at normality away from court. Now she sat on muddy ground, nestled in a dell below wind-beaten moorland. Apart from this temporary reprieve in the weather, they had been lashed by rain coming off the Storm Coast since they set out from the market town, but up until Alistair’s visit to the messenger outpost that morning they had remained in high spirits.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Alistair marched back across the camp, turning to pace in front of her, his feet wearing a groove in the mud. Never once would he look at her, despite her eyes following the path he wrought.

“Do you have any idea what position this puts us in?” His words were loud enough that she feared anyone travelling the moor nearby would hear them.

A sharp huff of breath escaped her lungs, her lips forming a sneer as every word within that cursed letter bubbled under her skin. 

“Excuse me?”

She scrabbled to her feet, drawing herself up to her full height, small as she was, she was still a force of nature, a tidal wave of noble arrogance ready to come crashing down, wreaking devastation on anyone foolish enough to cross her path. Yet he refused to look at her still. Ignored her as she positively vibrated with indignation. It wasn’t until she cast the damned note into the flames of the campfire that he deigned to glance in her direction, and yet still he could not meet her eye. 

“You know exactly what I mean.” 

His voice snapped like a whip, but failed to cow an imperious nature that hadn’t wrapped her like a cloak since the day she had stood face to face with Maric himself, shouting down the man she held responsible for the attempt on her father’s life. 

“Your _marriage_ could bring out the full force of the rebellion! Then it’s over before we’ve so much as reached Denerim! Darkspawn be damned!” 

A distant rumble hinted at the end of their dry spell, it wouldn’t be long before the leaden clouds released another relentless wall of water. She could feel the beginnings of droplets carried on the increasing gusts driving through the dell from the north, but she held her ground against the oncoming gale and in the face of accusations that made her mouth go inexplicably dry, and her skin burn with such heat she thought she might combust. 

“I didn’t ask for this, _my prince._ ” 

The venom in those quoted words stung him just enough to make him turn at the furthest point of his now well-worn path, staring at her with a frustration she hadn’t seen since Cailan was first taken by the Wardens, and all the progress they had made since that point seemed to be torn asunder. Her anger carried their battle on, her weapons, barbed words flung with deadly accuracy. Even when she could see the wounds her spite had left in his eyes, and felt them cut her just as deeply, she could hardly stop the bitter truth falling from her lips.

“Do you think I want to be bound by obligation to act against _my_ family for the sake of _your_ brother? Do you think I want to be _obliged_ to marry whoever the hell my father thinks is _beneficial_ to solidify his rule? To be told since I was a _child_ that it is my _duty_ to bear heirs to carry on the family line? And how do you think I feel about learning of my betrothal in the correspondence of people who would have me dead?” 

She paused, breathing heavily, fists clenched so tightly her knuckles were white. “It sounds like you will have _heir-ly_ duties of your own to attend to on your return.”

The wind whisked her last words high into the darkening sky, dispelling them amongst the calling gulls, but they had been loud enough, and vicious enough for any sympathy that had soothed his handsome features to dissipate in an instant. As the rain began in earnest, flattening his hair to his head, and quickly soaking his unprotected sleeves, he glared and renewed his pacing.

“That’s different. It might be of benefit when my father is in power but until then… they wouldn’t even consider such things before then.” He spoke as he passed her, unleashing a more vicious attack than he may have realised.

She was soaked to the skin, her clothes wringing wet and her hair, which usually fell in delicate waves, now hung, dripping and lank. The torrential downpour masked the furious tears that threatened to spill from her eyes to track down her cheeks. There was nothing more infuriating than her inability to stop her tears from flowing when she was thoroughly enraged, but she fought on, chin held high and nought but sheer bloodymindedness keeping her from breaking down at the thought of what Denerim held in store. 

“When? _When_ your father is in power?” He froze with his back still to her, but she could see some of the tension leave his shoulders, and as the realisation of what he had said struck him, his shoulders sagged further. “ _If_ your father is in power, Alistair, my family and I will be swinging from the city walls.” 

“I-- that’s not what I--” He raked his fingers through his hair, a gesture she’d come to associate with awkward apologies. Ones that over the time they had travelled together she had come to find surprisingly disarming. “I would never let that-- I’m sorry.”

He finally met her gaze, standing right before her, looking down with a mixture of compassion and frustration in those brilliant amber eyes. With a heavy sigh, he gave her a lopsided smile that instantly doused what remained of her temper. 

“Can _I_ not get wound up about something you find irrelevant for once? Or is it only you who’s allowed to do that?” 

Then it was Ysabelle who could not meet his eye, she felt disorientated. The argument, that had blown up out of nowhere and passed just as quickly as a squall at sea, had left her with questions that troubled her deeply. 

Was she truly just angry at her father’s ordering her hasty marriage in order to garner political support? Or was it that it had happened when she might have finally found someone who she could care about?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! 
> 
> I'm a little bit too much in love with this rebellion au, so much so that I intend to turn it into a long fic. There might not be many more one shots until it is underway, for fear of spoilers. But if anyone really wants some more from this universe then let me know and I'm sure I can sort something out. 
> 
> Thanks again for reading <3


End file.
